


Faraway, So Close

by Laura JV (jacquez)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquez/pseuds/Laura%20JV
Summary: Skinner tries to resolve a number of issues regarding his life and Fox Mulder.





	Faraway, So Close

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Faraway, So Close by Laura Jacquez Valentine

Author: Laura Jacquez Valentine,   
Date: 28 Jan 1999   
Title: Faraway, So Close   
Archive: Archive/X only, s'il vous plait.   
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex. But it's mild; if I hadn't used the word "cock" I would've rated it R.  
Spoilers: Miscellaneous up to sixth season. Mostly Avatar, but enough background noise comes from various episodes that I should stay on the safe side here and give a generic heads-up.  
Summary: Skinner tries to resolve a number of issues regarding his life and Fox Mulder.  
Disclaimer: 1013, Chris Carter, and FOX own the X-Files and the characters of Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, Bill Scully Jr, Teena Mulder, Margaret Scully, Sharon Skinner, etc. etc. I own certain other people in this story, including several Mulderian relations and Al and Anna Carpenter.  
Author's Notes: This is a post-XF story. It assumes that the alien invasion was foiled by our friends Mulder, Scully, and Skinner, with assistance from Krycek, the Lone Gunmen, and assorted others. Depending on what happens in Two Fathers and One Son, this may be an AU. I hope it won't be. The main part of the story starts in 2011, so the main characters are getting older. If you can't cope with Mulder having grey hair, or with older folks having sex, you should go read something else.  
Slash, UST, angst, children and accompanying parents, Bill Scully Jr, and other things all occur in this story. If you are allergic to any of these things, or if you think Bill Jr is such a jerk you can't put up with him in even a minor role, you should go read something else.  
I do speak French (badly) and read French (somewhat better--I can read _Candide_ and Maupassant in the original, which as far as I'm concerned is as much French as anyone needs). But I do beg your indulgence: because the French here is minor, I'm relying on my own production skills, and I may have missed something in my proofreading. And I haven't been to Nice, so I'm relying on my brothers' descriptions of the city and on research. If I screw up, assume it's because Nice has changed by 2011. If you can't put up with occasional geographical strangeness, why do you watch the X-Files? Also, you should go read something else.  
The title comes from the Nick Cave song, from the soundtrack of the movie. Which--along with its predecessor _Wings of Desire_ -- is one of the best movies of all time. I highly recommend both of them. Don't waste your time on _City of Angels_. The lyrics to this song are below. The movies in this story are referenced by their German titles, neither of which translate as "wings of desire", but then renaming movies is a great tradition which we should support. It's funnier that way.  
All other X-Files stories by this author can be found at: http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/~jacquez/writing/fanfic.html  
It's lynx-friendly, unlike many sites I could mention. I hate long load times.

* * *

_Faraway, So Close_ by Nick Cave

Empty out your pockets, toss the lot upon the floor. All those treasures, my friend, you don't need them anymore. Your days are all through dying, they gave all their ghosts away, so kiss close all your wounds and call living life a day.

For the planets gravitate around you, and the stars shower down around you, and the angels in heaven adore you, and the saints all stand and applaud you. So far away, so far away and yet so close.

Say farewell to the passing of the years, though all your sweet goodbyes will fall upon deaf ears. Kiss so softly the mouths of the ones you love, beneath the September moon and the heavens above.

And the world will turn without you, and history will soon forget about you, but the heavens they will reward you, and the saints will be there to escort you. So far away, so far away and yet so close.

Do not grieve at the passing of mortality, for life's but a thing of terrible gravity. And the planets gravitate around you, and the stars shall dance about you, and the angels in heaven adore you, and the saints all stand and applaud you. So far away, so far away and yet so close.

* * *

FARAWAY, SO CLOSE  
Chapter One: The Wanderer

May 28, 2011

I'd lost Teena Mulder in Nice. I'd managed to get to London before she did, and I'd tailed her from there. Every year since her son had disappeared, she'd flown to London for three weeks--nad once she got to London the records stopped. She went cash-only, underground.

To Nice, apparently.

What the hell was Fox Mulder doing in Nice?

I checked into a hotel near the Promenade des Anglais, changed my clothes, and went out to find a place to sit and relax. On the beach. In the sun. What, after all, were a few more wrinkles? I was nearly sixty, and the years were beginning to hurt.

The beach was crowded. Beautiful and crowded. I swam for a while, then stretched out on a towel and let the sun brown my skin. And thought about Fox Mulder, and his vanishing act.

*** 

September 15, 2000 Washington, D.C.

I made Director in the wake of the aliens and the Consortium and what Mulder called "the shit-storm of all time." I'd come out on the side of right and with enough power to make a difference. All because I'd fallen in love with a man with hazel eyes and a passion for the truth that bordered on religious fervor. If not for him, I would have spent my life ignorant or dark. As it was, I spent my life trying to make up for the darkness in me, the things I'd done because I was told to do them.

The things that took so much from me.

I sat in my office, thinking about my dark places. About what would have been, if Mulder had been other than he was.

My cellphone rang. My private cell. Only five people had the number, and every time it rang I felt cold fear grip me. I answered it quickly.

"Skinner."

"Sir, it's me."

Oh, God. "What is it, Scully?"

"He's gone, sir."

"What?"

"Agent Mulder. I...came in this morning and found a copy of his resignation on my desk. He wasn't answering his phone and so I went to his apartment. It's empty. His landlord says he gave notice months ago. His mother says she doesn't know where he is."

"Do you think it's them?"

"No..." She sighed. "I think he decided he'd had enough. I thought...you should know."

I heard the catch in her voice and I knew she was crying. I felt my illusions crumbling around me. Fox Mulder did not voluntarily evaporate into thin air. Dana Scully did not cry. I did not wish I'd gone to him last night and kissed him and begged him to stay.

And I most certainly wasn't crying along, over the phone, in my new office.

FBI Directors don't cry. The position I'd wanted for years was suddenly very cold comfort indeed.

***

May 28, 2011 Nice, France

I rolled over on my back in the sun and propped myself up on my elbows to watch the people go by. Couples strolled through the waves; children played, a group of old men argued loudly in French about whose wife had been the most beautiful thirty years ago. I thought of Sharon, her soft hair sliding through my fingers, how beautiful she'd been when I married her and all the years before she died. Yes, I loved Mulder by then, but I loved Sharon too. I will always love Sharon, who became a casualty of war.

Perhaps Fox was a casualty as well, in a different way.

He kept in touch with Scully, using some sort of remailer service. She shared what he wrote with me, because the letters almost always had "tell Skinner this joke; it made me think of him" or "I want Skinner to know..."

She smiled sadly when he wrote that he'd married, in 2002. It was a feeling I shared, but I couldn't tell her that. The feeling of rejection and of missed opportunities. She cried on me--and I on her--three years later, when he wrote that his wife had died in childbirth. "I sometimes think I'm doomed to carry a set amount of sorrow with me at any given time. If I was ever purely happy, the world might end, and then I'd never forgive myself. My son and daughter are some consolation. I named her after you."

Sometimes I would receive profiles from him. Where he got his information I can't imagine, but they were always on the nose. And they were always profiles for the weird ones, the ones no one could figure out. It was eerie. Unreal. Spooky.

We tried to find him, but he was spectacularly good at not being found.

Our only clue, after a while, was Teena Mulder and her yearly trips to London.

And from there to Nice.

Someone was jogging along the beach, long legs tanned, iron-grey hair cut close. Someone all too familiar.

Someone who had once illuminated all my dark places.

Someone named Fox Mulder.

\---

Chapter Two: Engel

 He passed me, his shoes digging into the wet sand at the water's edge. I followed him. For a man almost sixty, I'm in good shape. But he's nearly ten years younger, and if he took off I'd never catch him.

But he didn't. He let me pull alongside him, even slowed his pace a little. We jogged silently, the only sounds the waves, our feet against the sand, our breath. After a mile, he spoke. His voice hadn't changed at all in the eleven years since I last heard it. "We turn around in one minute."

"Right," I answered, glad he'd spoken, but missing the silence. Which returned, as smooth as if it had never been broken. We turned and headed back.

He slowed to a walk when we reached the place where I'd joined him. As we went over to my things, he spoke again. "So what brings you here, Mr. Director, sir?"

I shot him a look but decided the bait was too poor to take. And decided to be honest. "I followed your mother."

He seemed pleased by that. No, delighted by it. "I wondered when someone would get that bright idea. I told her to watch for it, and let it happen if it was you or Scully." He started gathering my belongings and shoving them in my bag. "Come on. There's no reason for you to stay at a hotel; you can stay with me. It's a nice house. Too large for me and the kids."

"Your mother's there."

"Mom doesn't take up much room. Certainly she doesn't take up the guest room *and* Eva's study."

"Your wife."

He looked distant for a moment. "Yes, my wife. Tell me, how long did it take before you could clear out all Sharon's things?"

I sighed. "We'd been separated, you know. Our things weren't that mixed anymore." I laughed, heard the bitterness in the laugh. So it still hurts that she's gone, after all these years. She's been dead now nearly as long as we were married. God. "I wonder sometimes if it would've been easier if I'd ended up divorced instead of widowed. Divorce reflects worse on you, but--" I bit my tongue. Best not to go there.

He had the strangest expression on his face. "Divorce hurts in a different way. Just as badly. And if your ex-wife dies later, you don't have mourning rights. Even if you still love her." He shrugged. "There's no easy way to lose someone that close to you, Walter. Diana--"

And he stopped, as abruptly as I had a moment before. I'd almost forgotten that Diana Fowley had been his first wife. She had been such a strange figure in his life, while Evangeline, who I had never met, had lived and breathed in his letters. Evangeline, who had won him when Scully could not, when I could not. Evangeline, who had been the light of his life since he met her, who had given him children and lost her life doing so.

Scully and I had given him less and lost less. I wonder if we or Eva had loved him more.

I changed the subject. "I read your third book. 'Things that Go Bump in the Night.'"

We started walking back to my hotel together. "I'm ashamed to tell you how much they paid me for that. I used to get growled at by a certain surly A.D. for writing crap like that." He winked at me. "Did you like it?"

"It was very you, Mulder. I remember some of those cases. You used to attract them. There were times it seemed that if you stepped out of the building, you walked right into an X-File."

He smiled, his quicksilver, charming smile. "I tried to convince them to call it 'Strange Attractor', but they weren't fans of chaos theory, which is understandable. You never heard of chaos theory winning the Super Bowl."

I couldn't help it. I laughed all the way to the hotel.

I hadn't laughed, really laughed, since he disappeared. I'd forgotten how easy it was to enjoy myself around him.

\---

Chapter Three: Tightrope

We took the elevator up to my room. Mulder scuffed his toe along the carpet. "Did you ever think of writing a book?" he asked.

"Not really."

"You should. They'd pay an obscene amount for something from you."

"What would I write about?"

"Your life. The Consortium. Straddling fences. You could call it 'Grey'."

"Grey."

"Think about it. Heroes are better when they're not pure."

I didn't want to think about it, so I didn't answer. But not wanting to think about something and actually not thinking about it are quite different things.

I hadn't unpacked, so it was easy to gather my things at the hotel. From there, we walked to Mulder's car, a sporty little coupe. Not a practical car for a man with two young children, but the clutter in the back testified to the children's claim on him. As I leaned in to hang my garment bag on the hook, I spotted a doll, naked, her limbs twisted into a strange and unnatural position.

"That's Marie," Mulder said, following my gaze. "Actually, Marie the Third. Dana's hard on her toys, and Marie always seems to end up the victim in whatever game she and Max are playing."

"I've wondered what your kids looked like, Mulder. You never sent us any pictures or told us their full names."

He smiled again and started the car, prompting me to jump in and close the door.

"I always hated my first name," he said. "It didn't even have a decent nickname. 'Fox.' What *were* my parents thinking?" He turned his head and leaned toward me. It was such an intimate gesture that I flushed--and hoped he didn't see. "My mother won't tell me. I've asked and asked." He straightened and the moment passed. I tried to get my breath back and focus on what he was saying. "You could call my kids' names an overreaction, I suppose. But really, they're not. William Maximilian, after my father and Eva's, and Dana Evangeline, no explanation necessary."

I looked out the window at the passing scenery. "I always wanted kids, but...Sharon miscarried three times, and then we had two babies who died just after birth. Some weird lethal recessive, maybe. We never found out. After a while we stopped trying."

He laid his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry." I could feel him hestitating next to me, his breath a little uneven. "What were their names? The babies who died?"

I closed my eyes. It had broken my heart when the first little boy died, and almost killed me when we lost the second. And no one had ever asked their names before. Not even their grandparents. The names on the tiny gravestones meant nothing to anyone but me, anymore. "James Sergei and Adam Davis." I remembered their hands, palms the size of my thumbnail, too weak to hold on to life. "My sons."

His hand was still on my shoulder, offering comfort. I resisted the urge to turn and press my face against it. But I couldn't ignore it, couldn't pretend that it wasn't there and that it didn't affect me. I touched it lightly with my hand, felt the vibration of blood under skin and the tension as he squeezed again and then let go.

When he spoke, I recognized the thickness in his voice. It was the sound of grief, of old pain that keeps returning and wounding you again. He and I had more than our fair share. I tried to tally mine in my head:

Sharon, James, Adam. The men I served with in Vietnam--how many were there? It bothered me that I couldn't remember anymore. The woman whose death I covered up. The children who died of smallpox because of it.

His tally might be smaller in number, but the hurts were more personal. His father and sister. Evangeline. Diana Fowley. Even Scully and I were dead to him in a way, sacrifices to his cause.

That he was our savior was irrelevant, at least to him. The pain he'd caused us weighed on him heavily, or he wouldn't have disappeared. I realized that by seeking him out I'd told him that I forgave him for all of it.

I admit I've never understood the man, but I understood that. And I understood that I'd never convince him that there had never been anything to forgive, that he'd been nothing but a blessing.

We pulled up at a house. He was right, it was large--too large for a man and two small children, though perhaps it would feel less empty when the children grew. I thought of something as I stepped out of the car.

"Scully has a daughter."

"I know. Mom keeps me updated. Manufactured cell, right? She's married to an FBI agent named Al Carpenter, and the kid's name is Anna." He reached into the back and pulled out my suitcase. I slung the garment bag over my shoulder and looked at him over the hood of the car.

"Anna Carpenter. Yes. She looks like her mother."

We walked to the house, side-by-side. "Is this the same Al Carpenter who went through the Academy with me? The one who came up with the nickname 'Spooky'?"

"I don't know. You never told me how you got that name."

He pushed open the door and held it for me. "Don't worry, I will."

 *** February 12, 2009 Washington, D.C.

Scully's brother Bill looked daggers at me the entire time. He didn't think I had any right to be pacing the hospital waiting room like an expectant father.

He hadn't forgiven me for giving Scully away when she married Al more than a year ago. I wasn't her father, wasn't even a male member of her family. I was associated with Fox Mulder, who he hated. He practically snarled when I called his mother by her first name, when I danced with Dana at the wedding, when he found out that I was the one who had pulled the strings so she could participate in the manufactured cell trials.

On the other hand, I was the man who was shot for refusing to close his sister's murder case. It was clear that Bill Scully had no idea how to react to me.

I ignored him and continued pacing. My personal cell rang.

"Skinner." I panicked. What now?

"Gotcha! It's me."

"Scully, dammit--"

"It's a girl. Act surprised when Al comes charging out that door." She hung up.

Only Dana Scully would take a cell phone with her into labor. I collapsed, laughing, into one of the uncomfortable chairs that always populate waiting rooms.

Al came charging out of the door, grinning so widely I thought he'd split his head open.

I acted surprised and was happy, so even Bill growling in my ear about leaving his sister alone and not intruding in her life failed to darken the day for me.

\---

Chapter Four: Chaos

May 28, 2011 Nice, France

I could hear the children and a dog as I followed Mulder upstair to the room that had been Evangeline's study. There was still a desk and chair in the corner, and the bookshelves were full of engineering textbooks. But somehow I doubted that the two twin beds and the television had been hers.

"I let the kids stay in here when they have friends over for the night. It's the only TV we have."

I looked at him, trying not to smile. Scully had told me about his video collection--not that she'd needed to: the custodial staff had told the secretaries, and the secretaries had chattered in public places, and... well, Mulder's collection was no secret. At least, the ones he kept at the office were no secret.

"I gave everything to Frohike when I skipped town. Told him it was just the ones I didn't watch anymore. He was impressed."

"You know, Mulder, you really do have an uncanny ability to tell what I'm thinking."

"Spooky, huh?" He laughed and left the room, brushing his body close against mine on his way out. The scrape of his chest across my own reminded me of the times when he'd lashed out and I'd had to hold him, to twist our bodies together and keep him still.

Sometimes, the memory of him was all that kept me going after I lost Sharon. The memory of that long hard body against me. The memories blended with Sharon's scent and the feel of her when we made love.

I shook myself and started to unpack, trying to give myself time to get my body under control. Christ, at my age, I should be able to control myself. I'm not eighteen, for God's sake. I opened the closet to hang my garment bag, and for a moment I swear I saw someone there. But it was just a wedding dress, airy and delicate. Evangeline's ghost.

There were a few other dresses there as well, and I pushed them aside to make room. As I wished I could do in his life. As I wished he would do in mine, forcing the ghosts back into the past where they belonged.

As if I'd let him.

I took a deep breath and left the room, heading downstairs to the kitchen. It seemed like a safe place to be, unlikely to contain the children--I could still hear them shouting--or Teena Mulder. I was correct, but it did contain Fox Mulder in only a pair of sweatpants, freshly showered. Had it really taken me that long to put away my clothes?

"Want a shower, Walter? There's a bathroom just around the corner from Eva's study, or you can use the one off the master bedroom if you don't want to trip on toys."

"A shower would be wonderful. Um."

"Master bedroom's up the stairs, turn left, second door. Supper's at 8, but if you're hungry after your shower there's leftovers. Just let me know-- I'll be in my study." He pointed and walked towards me, brushing against me again as he went through the door and down the hall to what must be his study.

I went back upstairs and took a shower, surprised at how good it made me feel. The salt and sweat of the afternoon ran off my body, and the sensation of clean skin under my hands reminded me that it had been a long time since I'd made love. With Mulder so close, that might be a problem. So I took care of it in the shower, thrusting into my hand under the warm spray, Mulder's scent surrounding me.

\--- 

Chapter Five: All God's Children

"Children," Mulder said, "can smell food a mile away."

"What?" I looked up from the sandwich he'd made me and met his eyes across the kitchen. He grinned, that goddamn disarming grin of his, and the kids, accompanied by their grandmother and a dog of indeterminate ancestry, appeared out of nowhere.

Out of the back door, I suppose, but I hadn't really checked the layout of the house very well and wasn't expecting the sudden explosion of people and dog.

"Mom, have you met Walter Skinner? I forget."

"I don't remember. It was so long ago." She turned to me and offered her hand, which I shook. But I didn't miss the tightening of her son's lips and the anger which flared behind his eyes.

There was no trace of that anger in his voice when he introduced his kids. Dana was pretty, with her father's eyes and hair the color his had been when he worked for me. She raised her chin and smiled at me--her father's smile, missing her two front teeth. Max was dark-haired and wiry, and also had his father's eyes, as unmistakable as a thumbprint.

I wondered what Evangeline had looked like. I wondered what my sons would have looked like had they lived.

Max tugged at my pants insistently. He spoke in French, which I didn't understand.

"En anglais, Maxon," Mulder said.

The boy switched to English seamlessly. "Are you Papa's friend?"

"Yes. From a long time ago. I haven't seen him since before you were born."

"Did you know my mother?"

"No, I never met her."

"Do you have any stories about Papa?" That came from Dana, who had captured my other leg while I was distracted.

"Yes, but--"

"But not tonight," her father interrupted. "Mr. Skinner and Grandma are both very tired from the travel. So not tonight."

With stories denied, Max quickly lost interest and disappeared upstairs. Dana, on the other hand, tried to clamber up my leg until Mulder picked her up and put her on his back. "You're getting too big for this, cherie." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against the back of his head. Things I wished I could do, though not with such innocent intent.

I blushed and looked away, and found Teena watching me. I met her eyes, daring her to say something. She frowned and stalked out of the room. Mulder moved to stand next to me. "What was that about, Walter?"

He used my name so easily, so naturally. I shrugged. "I don't know."

"Right. And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

Dana said something in French that made Mulder laugh. "C'est vrai, cherie. En anglais?"

The little girl smiled and looked at me. "I said 'But I want to be the Queen of Sheba, and you can be my servant.'"

"Me?" I asked.

"No, Papa. But you can be my servant, too. Queens have lots of servants."

I dropped to one knee. "Oh, my queen, how may I serve you?"

She looked down from her perch on her father's back and pressed a finger to her lips. "You can get me an apple juice."

I found a can of juice in the fridge and presented it to her with a bow. She laughed and patted me on the head, then slid off Mulder's back and ran out the back door, followed closely by the dog.

"Your kids are charming, Mulder."

"Thanks. And you can call me Fox if you want."

"Fox."

"Yeah." He bumped his shoulder against mine and leaned into the contact. "So are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What was going on with you and my mom." He pressed closer, his left side to my right, our arms touching from shoulder to wrist. "You don't have the hots for her, do you, Walter?"

I chuckled, felt the vibrations of my laugh bounce his skin gently against mine. "No, I don't have the hots for her. Jesus, Fox, she's probably twenty years older than I am."

"Fifteen, I think."

"So what kind of future do you think we'd have?"

"Well, average lifespan is going up...you might have ten years." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Forget it. I'll just wait until that daughter of yours grows up. Looks like she's my next chance with your family."

"What, I don't even get considered? I'm hurt."

I looked at him sharply and saw that he was laughing. "Oh, I considered it, Fox, but you're probably all wrinkley."

"Viagra will solve that."

I couldn't help it. I started to howl with laughter, doubled over. He collapsed into a chair, equally incapacitated.

It felt so good. So incredibly good.

\---

Chapter Six: Faraway, So Close

May 29, 2011 Nice, France

The children had been in bed for hours, and Teena Mulder had headed upstairs when they did. Fox and I, ignoring the protests of our bodies, were getting drunk in his study. He had some very good Scotch, and the two of us were getting remarkably skilful at lowering the level in the bottle.

Of course, we were getting progressively less skilful at other things, like standing and making sense. Not that it mattered to me. Just being around him, hearing his breathing, knowing that he was alive and well and real-- that was enough. That was more than I had any right to expect.

"Oh, hell!" Fox said, startling me. He wasn't slurring his words as he had been just a few minutes before.

"What?"

"You're too tall for those beds in Eva's study, Walter. God! They'll be uncomfortable. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not sure I could get upstairs." It took more effort than it really should have to produce that sentence. I hadn't been this drunk since... since Scully told me Mulder had married.

He was giggling madly. I blinked at him, feeling stupid. My eyelids felt fuzzy. I blinked again, and liked the way it felt, so I left my eyes shut.

"Wake up, Walter!" I growled and squeezed my eyes against the light. "Wake up!" I reluctantly opened one eye. Fox was standing there, shining his desk lamp into my face. "Come on. Here." Water and aspirin. What a good idea. I swallowed the pill and all the water.

"What time is it?"

"Three. A.M." He giggled. "We're still really drunk. Can you stand?"

"Maybe." I tried and found that if I leaned on him, I could avoid falling down. We stumbled up the stairs together, but when we tried to go our separate ways, we both fell down.

"Wake up!" Fox yelled.

"I'm awake!" He knelt over me and pulled at my shoulders. "I'm awake, Fox."

"You're drunk!"

"So're you." We started giggling again, and he fell forward and laughed against my chest.

I turned my head and saw Teena Mulder frowning at us. "You're going to wake the children!" she whispered.

"We're stuck," Fox answered, his voice muffled by my chest. "Walter's drunk."

"I am not," I said, and we were giggling again. Teena retreated into the guest room with a snort of disgust. Hell, what did I care? I was more than old enough to enjoy the nostalgia of falling-down-drunkeness.

"Come on." Fox pulled me to a sitting position and we pushed ourselves up the wall. "Come on. My room's closer."

We fell into his bed and went to sleep.

\--- 

Chapter Seven: Call Me

I woke up with my arm around Fox and a faint headache. Thank God he'd thought to give me water and aspirin last night. I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. My toiletries were still there from my shower yesterday, so I decided to get cleaned up.

Washed, shaved, toothbrushed, and carefully wrapped in a towel, I headed to Evangeline's study to get dressed. I nodded pleasantly to Teena when I passed her in the hallway.

The children were eating breakfast--it was earlier than I had thought, only 7:30. My internal clock was probably screwy from the travel, so I resigned myself to several hours without Fox and made some eggs and toast.

Dana and Max seemed determined to mine me for information about myself and their father. Max went so far as to climb into my lap and rest his head on my chest while he peppered me with questions.

When I finished breakfast, they introduced me to their dog, Jolie, and we went outside to play Frisbee. Teena watched from the back door, her arms crossed. I wondered if there was something about me that made families dislike me. Bill Scully and Teena Mulder seemed to have remarkably similar attitudes.

Perhaps they were attitudes I would understand if my sons had lived. That responsibility, that protectiveness...perhaps I did understand it. Hadn't I protected Agents Mulder and Scully that way, a long time ago?

I didn't know if it was the same. If my boys had lived... James would be nearly twenty-five and Adam twenty-one, if only...

Max smacked me on the arm. "Tag!" He took off, Jolie barking at his heels. I chased him around the yard until I caught him, then tickled him until he was laughing too hard to breathe.

By the time we sat down to dinner at one, Fox was up and about, if rather worse in the headache department than I was. "Remind me not to do that again," he muttered to me.

"Hell, *you* remind *me*. I'm an old man; my memory isn't what it used to be."

Dana, seated next to me, patted my face. "Old is good. Grandma is old."

"Cherie!" Mulder seemed to be shocked by his daughter's words. I met Teena's eyes across the table.

She grimaced and turned away.

*** 

July 13, 2003 Scottdale, Pennsylvania

They buried my father next to my children and my wife. I held my mother's hand as they lowered him into the earth, felt her fingers, small and light in my own.

When it was over, I took her home and sat with her while she cried. My brothers and sister drifted in and out of the house, their eyes red-rimmed and blank. My nieces and nephews watched television in the den with the volume turned low. My mother cried. I held her.

The day blurred into itself, pain and sorrow and age weighing it down. It was the first time I ever felt old.

***

May 29, 2011 Nice, France

We stayed up talking again, this time minus the alcohol. Fox showed me all his photo albums, one by one.

Pictures of Evangeline, who had been tall and strong-featured, the kind of woman you can't take your eyes off. Max had inherited her coloring: translucent skin and almost-black hair. I ran my fingers over the pages, trying to discover what Fox loved in her, and if it was a quality I could replicate.

"How did you meet?"

"She came to one of my speaking engagements, after I published the first book. And she wasn't shy about asking me to dinner afterwards." He took the album from me. "She was...wonderful. She always listened, and she always understood." He bowed his head and, for a moment, looked his age. Sorrow lined his face and made his eyes--which had always been old-- look older still.

I patted his shoulder awkwardly, and he waved me away. So I went upstairs to Evangeline's study and went to bed. Fox was right: the beds were too small, but I made do and tried not to think of how nice his bed had been. Tried to forget his body next to me, the sound of his breathing, the feel of his skin.

I finally had to turn the television in order to fall asleep.

\--- 

Chapter Eight: Stay

June 3, 2011 Nice, France

Someone was bouncing on the bed. I opened my eyes to find Max next to me. "Max, come on, get out."

He smiled and shook his head. "Max!" I turned and he took the opportunity to deposit himself squarely on my stomach. I groaned and fell back against the pillow. I was tired and frustrated. Fox had been getting more and more flirtatious, constantly touching me, resting against me, leaning close... and I was sure he was just lonely, just reaching out for an old friendship.

Max stood up and started to jump, his feet landing on either side of my hips. It was enough to remove the effects of the extremely erotic dream I'd been having about Fox. I hoped Max's motor skills were up to avoiding my genitals.

"Max! Get off of Walter!" His father's voice was sharp, and the small boy tumbled off of me onto the floor. I closed my eyes and sighed, but opened them when the mattress sank low next to me. Fox was sitting on the bed and setting a tray on the bedside table. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. "Happy birthday."

I had rolled into him, but I pushed myself back and sat up. "How did you know?" I inspected the tray: eggs, bacon, coffee, and a present.

"I know everything. Max, get out of here." A rustle, muffled thud, and the bang of the door indicated his son's compliance. I reached for the present, but Fox caught my hand. "Eat first. Then open that."

So I did. He stole a piece of bacon and munched it while staring off into space. I finished the rest of the food and the coffee--very good coffee, better than what I'd had the past few days. "Who made this?"

He blinked at me. "I did. Mom usually does, while she's here, but she's not very good at it. And she doesn't know where I hide the Jamaican Blue Mountain." He grinned devilishly at me. "Not that I'd let her get her hands on it; she'd ruin it."

I chuckled and set the empty mug back on the tray. Mulder handed me the present, which I shook next to me ear. "Doesn't rattle. Suspicious." He blushed and looked away, and I felt my heart skip.

My hands shook as I removed the wrapping paper to reveal a ring box. "What the--"

"Open it." Those unreadable eyes burned into me.

So I did.

There was absolutely no mistaking what was inside.

I jerked my head up and met his eyes, confused. "A ring, Fox?"

"A wedding ring. Commitment ring, if you prefer. If you don't like it, we can get another." God, he was bold. His courage, as always, astounded me.

"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you? What makes you think--"

"Was I wrong?" He was leaning closer. I could smell his aftershave. I could almost taste him.

"No. No, you weren't wrong."

He took the ring out of the box and slid it onto my finger. I pulled him closer and kissed him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

\---

(Want to see the ring? It's very similar to the first one on this page: http://www.weddingrings.com/christianbauer/)

\---

Chapter Nine: Slow Tango

I slid my hands under the waistband of his sweats and stroked the soft skin along his hipbones. He made a noise somewhere between a moan and a chuckle and pressed closer to me. My fingers brushed his penis, which was hardening rapidly. "Viagra?" I teased.

"No, all natural."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be, old man." He pulled back and gently extricated my hand. "We can't. The kids are here, this bed's too small, and I don't have any lube."

"Dammit, Fox--"

He kissed me again, his invading tongue sliding against my own. I lost myself in the kiss, let it wash over me until he released my mouth. "Tonight, Walter. I promise."

And then he was gone, the tray with him, the only signs he'd been there the ring on my finger and the empty box on the floor.

I showered and headed downstairs, where I found Fox humming tunelessly and cleaning the kitchen. He smiled when he saw me, but before I could say anything he began to talk.

"I know we didn't discuss this. And I know you're still the Director. But I want you with me. I haven't wanted anything so much for a long time, and I don't want to rush you, but Walter, I can't let you go this time. It was hard enough last time."

"Last time?"

"Didn't you know?"

"Know what?"

"I couldn't stay at the FBI and be just your subordinate, or even just your friend. And I...I didn't want to choose between you and Scully. I knew I had to, so I came here. And found Eva, and loved Eva, and let her be my choice." He snapped a dishtowel against my stomach. "When my mother told me you'd followed her, I knew why I hadn't come back when Eva died. I knew I'd waited for either you or Scully to choose me."

His eyes were bright. I could see the tears in them, ready to fall. I'd wanted him and loved him so long, but did I want to stay with him? Raise his children? Fight with him? Sleep with him every night for the rest of my life?

I took a step closer to him and laid my hands on his shoulder. "Fox, I think you'd better take me shopping. I need to find you a ring."

Then I kissed the tears away.

***

June 4, 2011

Fox woke me by stealing the covers, leaving me exposed to the air conditioning. I lay still for a few moments, weighing the perils of retaliation. I decided to be secure and not worry about him kicking me out of his life, so I grabbed the covers and yanked with all my strength. He yelped and fell out of bed, but recovered quickly. I found myself on the receiving end of his extremely talented fingers, which could switch from tickling to stroking and back in the space of one breath.

I twisted, pressed him under me, revelling in the feel of his skin, soft, young-feeling and young-looking; the skin of a man who took care of himself. I tickled him back, holding him down. He laughed and wrapped his arms around me, scraped his nails down my side until he reached my hips, then slid his hands between us to stroke my hardening cock. I felt his erection growing to match mine and flexed to capture it against my stomach--and felt a momentary flash of pride that my stomach was still flat, the day after my fifty-ninth birthday.

Fox squirmed underneath me, kissing his way down my body until I rolled off of him out of concern for his ability to breathe. He was still laughing, adding a little vibration to his kisses. When he reached my groin, he nuzzled my cock and flicked his tongue across the tip. Then he looked up at me, his hazel eyes glowing. "I want you inside me again, Walter."

I touched his cheek. "You're not sore?"

"A little. Good sore, though."

I frowned. "Fox, I don't want to hurt you."

He frowned back, and imitated my own growl. "Fuck me, you asshole."

I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled his head back. "How about I suck you off instead?"

"Only if I get to do the same to you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

Later, we showered together. I hadn't been so happy in years.

But facing Teena Mulder was no picnic. The children were outside with Jolie when Fox and I went downstairs. It was nine, not too early, not too late, but from the way Teena glared you would've thought we were six hours late for the end of the world.

Lips set, she started in on her son, completely ignoring me. "Fox. I don't think I need to tell you how much I disapprove of this. I thought this was just some experimentation thing, but you've taken it too far. Don't you have any consideration for me? For your children? How do you think this is going to make them feel?" He didn't answer, merely went about getting himself and me breakfast. "Fox? Are you going to answer me?"

"Orange or apple, Walter?"

"FOX!"

He turned to her, his face carefully neutral. "Mother. You know perfectly well I've had boyfriends since I was sixteen. Girlfriends too, yes, but this was never experimentation. Walter came looking for me. I want him and he wants me and that's the end of it, as far as I can tell. You're only here ten days a year, and children adjust very well to changing situations like this."

"How do you think they'll feel about a man replacing their mother?"

It was absolutely the wrong thing for her to say. Fox's face shifted from neutral to shuttered, and I saw the muscles bunch in his shoulders. I laid my hand in the small of his back, out of Teena's line-of-sight. I could feel the heat of his anger, barely contained, but his voice was very mild when he spoke. "They never knew Eva. She's a name to them, not a person. They know Walter. They love him already. And that's the end of it."

He turned away and refused to speak to her again. She finally stormed out of the room.

"So," I said, "tell me about these boyfriends."

He made a weak noise, then cleared his throat. "You knew some of them."

"Oh? Which ones?"

"Well, Alex Krycek."

"That little slut. Did he sleep with *everybody*?" That broke us up and we started laughing through the pain.

But that night, I held him as he cried.

\--- 

Chapter Ten: Speak My Language

July 10, 2011 Gaithersburg, Maryland.

"You're leaving?" Scully stared at me in disbelief. Al looked similarly dumbfounded.

"In August, yes. I've been with the Bureau since before I married Sharon. I've been the Director for eleven years, and I'm tired of it. I'm retiring."

They looked at each other. "Where will you go?" Al asked.

"Away. I'm not sure where, yet. I'll keep in touch."

Scully's mouth tightened. "Will you be using the same remailer service as Mulder, sir?" The ice in her voice could have sunk the Titanic.

I reached out and touched her cheek. "No, of course not. I swear you'll get real postmarks out of me. And phone calls."

She captured my hand in hers. "I've been meaning to ask you, Walter. This ring..." She traced it with her fingers. "Who gave it to you? You had it when you came back from vacation last month."

I stared at our joined hands, wondering if Fox would kill me if I told her. Wondering if she would kill me if I told her. "Fox."

She and Al inhaled as one. I didn't raise my head to meet their eyes. "Where is he, Walter?" Her voice was soft and bleak.

"I..." I took a deep breath. "I can't tell you without his permission, you know that."

She nodded. "But no remailers. You promised."

"Yes. I promised. So you'll know."

She stood up and tucked my hand under her elbow. "I'll walk you out."

We stood outside in the heat. I looked off into the distance, not wanting to have this conversation. Knowing it was inevitable. "You know," she said, "I'm not in love with him anymore. I still love him, yes. But I let him go a long time ago." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed she was looking up at me. "You never let him go, did you?"

"You and Mulder were all I had, after a while. My family was too far away, and they didn't understand. How could I let either of you go?"

She nodded, the movement a blur on the edge of my vision. "You couldn't. Believe me, I know." She touched my chin, turned my face towards her, then raised up on her toes and kissed me softly. "Don't you dare disappear on me, Walter. You're family. Don't forget it."

She released me and went back inside. I walked to my car and drove to my apartment to start packing.

***

August 13, 2011 Nice, France

I actually flew to Rome and took the train to Nice. Scully would know where I was, yes...but there was no need to make it blindingly obvious. No need to make it easy on anyone.

I closed my eyes and lay back on the bed, glad that Teena wasn't here this time. She'd stayed shut up in her room until it was time for her to leave, and then she'd called every day to yell at Fox. He'd finally changed the phone number, and her letters lay unread in his study. "They're too thick to be apologies," he'd said when I asked. "She'll send a card or a single sheet to apologize. Don't worry, it's happened before."

The bed smelled of Fox, smelled of heaven. Clean and masculine, white and navy blue. A far cry from the man who used to sleep on his couch, wrapped in a ratty grey-brown blanket. But then, many things had changed about him since those days. The anger and paranoia were gone. The recklessness had been replaced by self-knowledge and an amazing capacity for instant-- and always correct--decision-making.

I stretched out my legs, feeling the kinks of travel along their length. The temptation to sleep was growing, but my sleep schedule was screwed up enough by the time change that I didn't want to risk it. So I concentrated on my breathing.

I must have drifted off, despite my best intentions, because Dana shook me awake, her small face intent. I rolled on my side. "What is it?"

"You're staying forever and ever and making Papa happy, right?" she asked.

I swallowed. Her eyes were so like her father's that I remembered my comment the day I met her. "I'll just wait for that daughter of yours to grow up." I would be watching her grow up, protecting her, shielding her from harm. The thought terrified me. What if I fucked it up? What if I made her childhood and Max's a living hell?

She reached out and patted me on the cheek. "Are you staying forever and ever?"

I sat up and lifted her into my lap. She snuggled close, tucking her head under my chin. "Yes," I said, "if your Papa will let me."

"Oh, he wants you to! He told Max and me." She pulled back to look at me and made a face. "He says you don't speak French, so we have to be careful to use English around you. But my friends don't know English yet, so you have to learn some French."

"I will. Don't worry."

"And you need a name." That wasn't Dana; it came from behind me. I turned in surprise. Max was in the doorway. He came in and bounced across the bed to sit next to me. "Papa calls you Walter, can we call you that?"

"I don't think so, Max."

"It's OK. We'll thnk of something." He leaned against me, and Dana cuddled closer, and I thought about my sons, who would have called me "Dad." Who would have called Sharon "Mom." And I began to cry silently, letting the tears flow down my face.

It's truly amazing sometimes what hurts, and why, and how. This pain was offset by joy. James and Adam were long dead and only Fox and I knew their names; Max and Dana were alive and happy and with me, the children I never had.

\--- 

Chapter Eleven: Cassiel's Song

Fox and I put the children to bed together. Or rather, he efficiently wrangled them into the tub, cleaned them up, got them into their pajamas and tucked into bed, and I read them each a story.

When I left Max's bedroom and entered Fox's--mine, Fox's and mine, our bedroom, I found that Fox had moved the television from Evangeline's study into the room. "What's this for?"

He ran a hand through his hair and blushed. "Two reasons. One, I didn't think you'd want a television in your study, and--"

"*My* study?"

"I packed all her books away." He stepped close to me and rested his hands on my waist. "Walter, she's been dead six years. She's important and I love her and there's no way in hell you'd ever get me to take the picture of her off of my desk--but there's no sense in leaving the study as a shrine to her when you could use it. When you'll need it, sometimes, to have a private place." He laughed. "Trust me, with kids you *always* need a private place."

I sighed. It somehow seemed wrong, taking Evangeline's study. But I knew he wouldn't let me get away with refusing him. "And the second reason?"

"I want to show you something. Two somethings. Movies. You'll like them."

"Movies about what?"

"You'll like them. They're German. Old. Good."

"I hate German film."

"You'll like these."

"What are they?" I took the discs from him and studied them. "'Der Himmel uber Berlin?' 'In weiter Ferne, so nah?' Fox, what are they about?"

"Just trust me."

I did and he was right--I loved them. They meandered a little, but they were beautiful and meaningful. And I'd always liked Peter Falk. "Damiel reminds me of you," I told Fox, who had tucked himself under my arm.

"I'm not fat!" he protested, laying a hand on his flat stomach.

"No, but he reminds me of you anyway. He made choices, went his own way. That's you all over, ex-Agent Mulder. Now let me guess: You think I'm like Cassiel. Why?"

He sighed. "You don't choose. Things happen to you and you react because there's nothing else you can do. And you get hurt, but you wouldn't have done it any other way if you'd had the choice."

"Damn you," I said, and grabbed his hips, sliding them over my own.

"Oh, Walter, I love it when you get fresh with me."

"Fuck you." I thrust my hips against him as he leaned down to kiss me.

Just before his lips touched mine, he said, "Only if you promise never to leave."

"Mmfy prmss," I said against his mouth.

***

June 3, 2012 Gaithersburg, Maryland

"Max, come *on*. We're going to be late."

"No way, Da."

My sixtieth birthday, and I had a booksigning and a speaking engagement. Max, stubborn as his father, refused to put on his shoes.

"Scully," I said, turning to her, "does Anna ever do this?"

"All the time," she replied. "Don't worry, you won't be late. Just carry him to the car. Where's Mulder?"

"Probably outside admiring the book cover again."

Fox had told me that first day in Nice that he was ashamed of how much he was paid for his books. Publishers were willing to pay obscene amounts for some things, including books by those prominent in bringing down the aliens and the Consortium.

Particularly if those people weren't squeaky clean. You know. Heroes with a hint of darkness.

The cover was black and white: me, as I was in 1997, in shades of grey.

Fitting.

Writing the book had reminded me of so much that I thought I had forgotten, of so much that I'd wanted to forget, of so much that I must never forget.

My dark places, the private places that even Fox and Scully and the children couldn't take away from me. The place where Sharon is buried, the feel of tile against your knees as you scrub it, the graves of my children, the face of the smoker, the cold skin of a dead woman in bed with me.

The dark places I thought shut me off from the rest of humanity, but which had brought me to this moment.

This moment, and the man who illuminated my dark places.

I picked up Max and headed out to the car.

\---

The End.


End file.
